A Match Made in Hell
by LJ1983
Summary: Post-Hellseeker. AU. Kirsty Cotton is reunited with her father twenty years after he died at the hands of her evil Uncle and Step Mother and was sent to Hell unlawfully. When she discovers, to her surprise, it was the enigmatic pinned Cenobite from her past who had resurrected him - she vows to find out why, thus setting destiny in motion...For my friend Izzy!
1. Prologue

**A Match Made In Hell**

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**Disclaimer **_**- **_I do not own _Hellraiser_ or its characters. All rights go to Clive Barker and_ Dimension_ _Films_. This is for entertainment purposes only. Story is rated T for mild violence, horror, language, heartbreak, and scenes of a suggested sexual nature. Just to be safe. Please enjoy!

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**PLEASE NOTE - **This was a story I wrote so many years ago, when I was just coming back into the HR series and also into writing. I was very aware of the plot's flaw which was, looking back, too juvenile and not keeping with the HR universe, and littered with grammatical/punctuation mistakes I hadn't realized I made. But I did enjoy writing it three years ago, so I have decided to re-post. I was originally going to re-post the actual story I wrote three years ago but I just couldn't bear to do it so I've sat down with the old draft and have completely re-imagined it. Of course, it's the same story, same feel. Only difference is, there'll be a retelling to the tale and a whole different kind of conflict. Hopefully this time it will make better sense. I too felt I should re-post because it was requested by a good friend (see below). And it's for sentimental reasons too. It is actually quite a sweet story. I couldn't completely get rid of it. For now, here's to this, and I hope you enjoy!

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_**~ Dedicated to my very good friend Izzy not only for her birthday which is on the 27th, but for her kindness and friendship over the past year. Also, it was of her request that I should bring back this old story of mine. Izzy - this is for you only. I wouldn't do it for anyone else. ;) Thanks for suggesting I revive this sentimental old fic. AND A HAPPY BIRTHDAY! :D ~**_

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Prologue

_**Somewhere In Hell's Labyrinth...**_

The creatures with whom inhabited this dark realm, the place of where he had been a less than well-treated resident of, came and went over the must have been eons that had passed; all varying in looks and sizes, yet he had remained there since the moment of his arrival so long ago. Always for the same purpose; to be punished and flayed for something which he had not committed.

What could this poor, innocent human have possibly done to deserve this waking nightmare?

All he had done was come home from a hard day at work to be confronted by his supposed loving wife. She had something to show him, she had claimed. The next thing he knew he was face to face with a flayed thing in the attic, a skinless 'man' who had claimed to be his brother. Then...nothing. Just blank. He couldn't remember anything following on from that moment. Then he was here; in the God-forsaken place receiving punishment by these..._demonic_ creatures - for lack of a better word.

He had been shackled and bound tightly since, with no hope of escape, to the old faded stone walls of his cell bloodied and beaten, for whatever God of this realm only was aware how long now. He was cold, hungry and tired and he could do no more than whimper and sob uncontrollably.

He was an innocent man whose very soul was untouched by corruption and sin that unfortunately his treacherous younger brother Frank had in abundance, yet he had been sentenced to Leviathan's keeping almost two decades before. The nightmare was never ending, as was the pain and the suffering. His suffering had been legendary since he had been unfairly and wrongly sent to Hell in placement of the absconded Frank Cotton, and his eager and desperate paramour Julia.

Where they were right now, the man just did not know for certain.

He had no choice but to listen to the agonized and pain-filled screams of those fellow damned echoing around him. Day and night, every minute which passed, every hour. Every second. (If those were at all possible to measure here) Such screams which would shrill loudly and painfully, screams which forced him to clamp his shuddering hands over his delicate ears.

Where exactly was this hellish place he had found himself in twenty years before - or was it more? - a place he had often heard his tormentors refer to as the 'Labyrinth'?

Was it really Hell?

Or was it another plane of existance entirely?

Only his mutilated, other worldly tormentors knew of the truth, but they were far too concerned in punishing him for something he did not do.

Every single time they came to torture him he pleaded with them, begged them to see reason. He forever protested his innocence, claiming that this was all a big mistake. But all his desperate pleas fell on deaf ears. He had been all of his life a good man; a decent man living an honest life. Why was he even in this place?

In the many years, eons perhaps, he had spent in his cold, dark and dismal surroundings he had made several noble attempts to escape, all being rather futile of course, and now he had given up not only all hope, but on himself too.

All he could do now was assign himself to the fact that he was never going to leave there alive. When death would come for him he would gladly welcome its sweet release with open arms, not exactly realizing that in a way he was already dead and had been for some time now.

But, more so than anything in the whole wide world, he desperately wanted to be able to see his little girl Kirsty again, to hold her close to him and never let her go. He missed her horribly and often wondered what she would be like now.

Did she still possess that mass of gorgeous dark corkscrew curls for hair? Was she still as stubborn and free-spirited as she had been as a child and into her teens? Dare he think it, would she have grown to look like her beautiful late mother? Was she married? Had she made him a Grandfather? What does she even look like?

How had she coped for all this time without him? Was she even still alive, seeing as it had felt like he had been languishing in this place for centuries?

All these questions that he longed to ask her were what kept him sane, though sometimes they had driven him quite _insane_. God, heaven only knew how his girl must be feeling, all alone with no one. No one related by blood anyway.

"Oh Kirsty, I'm so sorry, baby! This isn't fair!" He sobbed quietly to himself, his voice barely a whisper and a lone cold tear streaking down his cheek.

Suddenly, he was pulled from his torturous stirrings as he heard the bolt on the iron door of his so called 'cell' being brought down harshly. _'Oh no, they can't be here for more, it's too early.'_ He thought to himself.

As the immense and heavy door creaked open slowly the innocent little lamb forced himself right back into the corner and curled himself into a protective ball, and buried his face into his knees. He could feel his racing heart pounding mightily against them almost like he had run a Marathon.

He gazed up and winced, squinting at the blinding light that flooded his dark cell. He could just make out a figure standing in the light. "Who...who are you?" He stammered, daring to question the mysterious dark figure. His voice was still raspy and croaky through all the screaming in his torture sessions.

"Larry Cotton?" The figure inquired, speaking with a deep and cavernous voice, though it was rich and English accented. The stranger never moved an inch as he awaited the occupant's reply.

Larry Cotton, the innocent lamb who had been sent here to this place well over a decade before, swallowed hard and curled himself up into an even tighter ball. "Yes?" He finally answered. His voice quivered through the fear and uncertainty of what may come next.

The figure, however, did not reply straight away. Instead he stepped further forward into Larry's cell. Larry himself now had a better look at him. He was a demon like all the others who had come and tortured him since his arrival, but Larry had never seen this one before. Even if he had of, there was no way he could have ever forgotten him, Larry observed. The pins decorating his pale cranium kind of stood out amongst other things, so to speak.

His very presence commanded authority, and Larry knew almost immediately that this was the leader of the brutes with whom tortured him within an inch of his life every day for the past...well, again, it was not to him to guess how long he had been there. But looking to his snowy pierced face, Larry could find nothing sinister or evil lurking within those coal ebony eyes.

Quite the contrary; his eyes reflected such sadness and even empathy.

Why such emotions were swimming within this demon's eyes Larry did not quite understand, though right now he had more pressing concerns to worry about.

What exactly does this demon want with him?

The pinned man was still lurking there in the doorway before Larry, lingering in between light and darkness, and simply staring at him. It was almost as if he knew him, like he was the key to something he so craved. This had understandably forced Larry to feel uncomfortable and fearful.

Finally, he could no longer stand the unbearable silence, and Larry had mustered up all of his courage and strength to speak out. "Look, mister, I didn't do anything wrong. I was sent here by accident. It was all a mistake! I don't deserve to be here! Why can't you just give me a break! ?" The father to the strong willed Kirsty Cotton whimpered. His tear ridden frost blue eyes darted back and forth through not daring to look his demonic visitor in the eye. He just wouldn't dare.

The pin studded demon, however, chose merely to stare at him, almost murderously. However then, taking Larry by complete surprise, he neared Larry and extended his leather-gauntleted hand out to him and offered him a help up from the floor.

Larry hesitated at first, and quite rightly so, until he was encouraged by the demon's honest gaze. He shakily placed his hand in his; a pale fleshed hand which was, to Larry's complete shock, quite warm considering. He allowed for the demon to take his full weight and pull him to his feet, and finally the two came directly face to face with one another. His expressions were calm, emotionless, empty - though his eyes held something of pain within them, and sadness, even loneliness.

Larry did not quite know what to think or feel, nor did he know of what lay ahead for him. Was this considerable 'man' here to torture him? Tease him with more images of his beloved daughter? Was this a rather cruel trick?

Larry's head swam with the whys and whatnots until a new voice cut into the airy silence which had flooded this dark and cold cell.

"Xipe, why do you wish to help this pathetic mortal? Do you not know of the consequences to yourself if you were to set him free?"

The voice which spoke so seductively belonged to that of an unseen female. She must have been outside of the cell, and she was obviously speaking to the pinned faced one.

The demon referred to as Xipe did not answer to her, he did not even look back to her. He simply ignored her.

The female continued, her cooing voice dripping with sexuality, though there was an element of mocking present.

"Is it because of this _Kirsty _female you're so very fond of? Surely not, Xipe. You are not that so weak and compassionate. Or are you?" Her voice had now definitely become cruel and mocking. "My, Xipe, this Kirsty creature must have cut through that...tough exterior of yours, and you have allowed it, you even welcome it. Whatever happened to Leviathan's favoured son? The chosen one?"

It was at that moment Larry then seen the burning rage in the pin creature's eyes. He wasn't so sure what the female had said about Kirsty, but it had been enough to displease and anger him greatly.

"Angelique! Leave us, NOW! Or I'll be sure to make you suffer Larry Cotton's pain tenfold!" Xipe commanded in a voice which shook Larry to the very core.

Larry could not see anything, but he could hear footsteps softly clapping away on the stone floor outside, meaning that the woman addressed as Angelique had taken heed of the pin demon's warning and had left them be.

The demon, his eyes now relaxing and the anger and rage melting away only for sadness and loneliness to once again take a hold, opened his mouth to speak to the broken man stood shaking and shuddering before him.

"Larry Cotton, you must come with me now." He ordered calmly.

Larry's hands at once started to shake through the fear. Fear of the unknown. What was going to happen to him now?

He decided to ask, though chose his words carefully and prepared to defend himself just in case.

"W-why? Where are you taking me?" He asked fearfully.

The pinned demon took a deep breath and sighed. "Home, to your daughter." He finally said, before adding in a more demanding tone; "Come now Larry Cotton. We have a long journey ahead of us..."

~ To Be Continued ~

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**Coming Soon... **Kirsty comes face to face with the past, Pinhead's hiding something...but what? A forbidden romance ensues, a conspiracy, war, mysterious Soulkeepers, Kirsty in danger...and much more! Tune in next time!


	2. Chapter 1: Memories Never Die

**Note -** Phew. I've finally updated. :D So sorry for the delay. I know I promised the rest of this story on the 27th May of last year, but things really have been hectic here. And I've been re-imaging most of my stories, including this one. The entire plot itself has undergone a major overhaul. Just to bring some sense into it. But it will still retain elements from the original story. :) For now, I hope you will be happy enough with this one chapter. There's no Pinhead, yet, and this is Kirsty-centric mostly. Enjoy! Hope you like!

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**_Oh, and this is especially for my friend, Izzy, whose patience and encouragement is limitless. Thanks, Iz! I hope the wait was worth it. _;D**

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Chapter One - Memories Never Die

_**October 2007, Earth - Kirsty Cotton's Apartment...**_

A tired and utterly exhausted Kirsty Cotton staggered in through the front door of her more recently new apartment, clutching in her arms two heavy brown paper bags which were bursting with groceries. The strap of her handbag fought mightily to remain fixed upon her shoulder blade, with little success. Her woman vanity slipped to the floor within seconds of crossing the threshold of her home which was bathed in darkness through the later evening setting in, though miraculously Kirsty did not lose grip of her shopping.

Finally, in managing to flick the hall light on with the tip of her nose as both her hands had been too occupied, Kirsty settled her groceries down by the telephone table and treated both her over exerted limbs to a well over due stretch, feeling the ache in her muscles and giving them a chance to recover from all the carrying, labouring and toiling the day had brought. They were throbbing. "Oooh what a day..." She had muttered lowly to herself, collapsing at once onto her plump-cushioned couch.

It had been a very long day, to say the least. Since her very late but not so lamented husband's death five years previously Kirsty had found steady work at an office down town; a nine till five sort of job, except it was eight till three. A secretary's job. It paid the bills, the rent, and gave her just enough to live on, but she was not fond of it. Then there was running one or two errands for an elderly but kindly neighbour across the hall - who'd often inquire as to whether Kirsty would hurry and find herself a man one of these days - and then she had headed straight for the local shopping centre before it closed for the day to pick up her usual essential supplies; bread, milk, sugar, also including an item which was not exactly essential but - nonetheless - she enjoyed occasionally; a bottle of white sparkling wine. After the day she had had she was going to enjoy a glass of that while she relaxed in a nice hot bath with extra bubbles!

But before she could indulge and shut herself away for the night, Kirsty had one more job to attend to: paying her respects to one long dead member of her family; her father Larry.

Admittedly, Kirsty had not set foot within her old family house at Lodovico Street since all that had happened that fateful day in 1987 when she had been a headstrong sweet sixteen and had her whole life ahead of her. But it had been twenty years to the day. Twenty whole years since her father had been unfairly murdered and his body used as nourishment for her greedy, grasping uncle. Also including the various other murders. It pained her to try to even attempt to remember the gory details, but she had to do this. She simply had to.

Her apartment was merely a few blocks away from Lodovico Street. Kirsty had purposely sought out this accommodation so she could be close to her long dead father. Strange as it sounded, and considering the trauma she had been through, she had found comfort from this. The house at Lodovico Street _was_ hers; it was bequeathed to her from Larry's will years before, along with a hefty inheritance which she never touched. But the house was left as it was; no work, no tenants, no life buzzing in and out. She had kept it as it was; a hollow, derelict shell. A shrine to Larry, perhaps. Regardless of her intentions, she could never bring herself to live there, but neither could she let it out or sell it to a needy growing family.

No matter, she thought. She had a twenty year long anniversary to attend to, and a long dearly departed father to remember and leave a generous bouquet of flowers for. Leaving her shopping bags where she had deposited them on arrival not so long before, Kirsty clutched a hold of the Florist-made bouquet of Lilies and headed for the door, shutting it tight behind her as she then made her perilous and memory-inducing journey toward Lodivico Street...

And there the old house stood; neglected, overgrown and rotted both inside and out. Dark lush green masked the husk of a house and clung to the bricks and mortar - the weeds, shrubbery and thick branches of Hedra helix which of course no one had been around to keep control of. Kirsty would have to do something about that, it was her responsibility. Along with the much needed work inside of the house. But she couldn't bear thinking about that right now, not with her intentions.

Taking a deep breath, Kirsty inserted the key to the door and pushed her way in. It creaked horribly as she did so. The old paint was flaking and peeling, showing rotten wood beneath, and the brass numbers screwed there were red with rust as a result of twenty years worth of rain water.

_'Looks like I might have to fix this place up before someone complains...'_ She thought to herself, inwardly groaning.

The inside of the house was no better. Rotten furniture, mice scurrying for cover and searching for crusts of food, cockroaches in the kitchen, busted couches well past their best. But if there was one feature which had shuddered Kirsty right through to the bone then it would have been the haphazard scrapes going along the wall leading up from the stairway. The blood that had weeped from the wall as a result from the female Cenobite's hook gliding across it viciously had long gone, but those dreaded scratches remained.

Kirsty released a gasp, closing her eyes, remembering back to that fateful day; the day she not only lost her father and fought mightily to the death - literally - with her perverse uncle, but was cornered by four very hungry Cenobites, all wanting to greedily devour her soul.

_"Not leaving us so soon, are you?" _

She could actually hear the female Cenobite's whispery, asthmatic hiss tease and titillate her ear drum as she walked the stairs...

_"We have such sights to show you."_

She shuddered when _his_ deeply cold voice bellowed in her mind, causing goose-flesh to rise on her skin as she nervously approached that accursed bedroom. It still held painful memories too as she stood there, staring to the four walls. The mattress was long gone, as was the blood, but the ghosts of her past still lingered, screaming till her soul wept.

The memories still wouldn't leave her be as she walked the rest of the stairway, toward the very room in which her poor father lost his life; the attic...

_"Everything's alright. Frank's here..."_

Kirsty's brown eyes glistened and welled as she stared to the very spot her father had lain choking on his last breath and stripped of his skin. The room was enveloped by utter blackness as the evening settled and the later night moved in. The moonlight and the shadows reflected danced along the cracked walls as she moved slowly toward the window. They were mocking her. Twenty years of dust were unsettled by the first and only human contact in years, and it scattered around her, floating like a snowfall as she breezed along.

Finally, she reached her destination. Dutifully, she placed the bountiful bouquet of flowers she had purchased across the rotted floorboards where her father had fallen, two decades to the day.

It had took her so long, longer than most people would, but she had finally come to terms with her father's death. Finally accepted that he could no longer be saved from whatever damnation, whatever Hell, he had been placed. She no longer blamed herself, even no longer blamed the Cenobites. No. All blame was reserved only for her devious Uncle Frank, and whore of a former Stepmother Julia. All Kirsty could do now is mourn her father, and at least keep his memory, and his spirit, alive by honouring the day he died.

Crouched beside the flowers, and bowing her head low, mournfully she whispered; "Well, daddy, I hope that where ever it is you may be, you're not suffering as I once feared, and you're at peace." A lone, fat tear fell from her eye, running along the rouge of her cheek, and spoiling the mascara from her eyelashes. "I love you, daddy."

Kirsty's tired and achy body refused to move from the vicinity despite wanting to._ 'Just a few more minutes and I'll go.' _She reasoned with herself. She had began to run the palm of her hand across the uneven surface of the offending floorboard, taking care not to catch a splinter in the process, when a noise within the darkness sounded. It was a slight creak, like...like...

"Who's there?!" Kirsty demanded, a slight tremble in her cautious voice.

It could so easily be just the old house settling. After all, houses did do that. It made for a much scarier noise especially in the darkness of night. But no...Kirsty was affirmatively certain this kind of creak was that of a rackedy floorboard being trod upon by foot.

The creak in the darkness sounded again, then again...then a third, forth and fifth time. It was timid but urgent, almost in a pattern. And Kirsty was on her feet within seconds.

There was someone else in the house, that she was certain of now.

Now that she was aware, the floorboard where just a moment ago her hand had stroked the surface, appeared unusually sticky and wet - like someone had vomited, leaving their stomach waste where it fell.

Kirsty inwardly grimaced and wiped her now slime-coated palm against her coat before grabbing the nearest item for protection; in this case, it was a half piece of wooden plank with rusted nails jutting out. She stared to the nails, their glinting impressions evoking the dreaded memories of something..._familiar_...and somewhat _arousing_. She cursed to herself and went back to the present danger.

She held her breath, her heart was racing beneath her rib cage. Anger swelled deep within her chest, and her nostrils flared with defiance. She was in no mood to trifle with a squatter, murderer or homeless bum. Gripping the plank tightly, she squinted into the blackness and swallowed angrily.

"Alright, asshole!" She growled to whomever it was it may have concerned, feeling far too brave for her own good. The noise awoke an inner fire, a desperation in her. "Whoever you are, you better show your face before I-"

Then, suddenly, mid-rant - she saw a figure before her. Just at the threshold of the attic. In the poor light, she could hardly make out the features of the stranger. Kirsty's breath caught her in throat and she swore her heart had ceased their regular drummings as her unwanted visitor slowly came forward. She could hear his laboured breathing reverberating along the hollowed shell of the room.

Her heart was now racing at the speed of light. She raised the plank with all her might the closer this person came. In all her bravado and innate sense of survival going into overdrive she was ready to beat his - she just knew this to be a man - brains out with the piece of old wood when the shadowed stranger came within an inch of her.

Falling from her fast grip, the plank of wood clattered to the ground noisily beside her feet, and her breath quickened, gasping - her gentle brown eyes widened with shock, not daring to blink even for just one moment, as the moonlight's rays flooded the stranger's face...finally revealing his identity to her.

With this revelation, the recognition of her own eyes, Kirsty Cotton passed out from the shock, falling limp at the man's feet...

~ To Be Continued ~


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